


Why Can't This Be Love

by Remy_Etienne_Creed



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Angst, Complicated Relationships, Dubious Consent, Everyone Loves Remy, Jealousy, Multi, Mutant Powers, Prostitution, Threesome - F/M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:03:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1872384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remy_Etienne_Creed/pseuds/Remy_Etienne_Creed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, Remy LeBeau had a real problem, gambling. When you cheat the wrong people out of millions you can end up in some serious hot water. Remy owes the ruthless and greedy owner of several casinos and many, less legal things, Nathaniel Essex, or as he is better known, Sinister, millions and he is INDEED in very hot water. Remy stole for a long time, he's wonderful at that, after all. But with cops around every corner in this city even Remy doesn't want to take the risk as nothing the cops could ever do to him would be as bad as what would become of him if he couldn't pay Sinister back. Sinister has an idea to get his money back quickly, his young debtor is quite attractive indeed. Wouldn't that body of his fetch a nice price? Only the wealthiest clients will do. And in this city, that can mean only three things, gang members, drug lords or politicians. Remy finds himself "entertaining" these sorts of people now, but hey, he's done worse things for money. Also, he finds, he kind of likes these people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Logan

**Author's Note:**

> Not Beta'd, sorry for any mistakes. This story is going to be like a Gauken Heaven type one. Lots of possible ships with a main character (Remy) but the main one will be VictorxLoganxRemy. Might create other stories where the other ships are the main one if people want me to :D. Anyway, enjoy! I tried. Wanted to write an X-men fic so I did. Might not be the best but I'll certainly try :)

Six AM. It was fucking six AM and Logan was awake, staring ahead at the alarm clock's numbers flashing blinding red in the previously peaceful darkness of his room. Logan growled, instead of waking to soft breathing or light snoring, maybe a restless limb swatting at him unconsciously, just dumb feminine, utterly domestic things he hadn't known he wanted before, he got to wake up to this. The gentle slipping from between bedsheets, light feet padding around his room gathering clothing in the dark, the quick efficiency of zippers and buttons being done by expert hands completely used to these early morning escapes. Logan knew these sounds all too well by now but it never made them any more welcome. 

Exactly six hours, no more-there was no way he could afford more as frequently as he wanted no matter how much Chuck paid them. Remy was surprisingly- and very, very disappointingly- good at keeping time. You got exactly what you paid for down to the minute. Knowing how Remy could be in personal life Logan never ceased to be surprised by how careful Remy was in business, how precise. Then again, Remy wasn't stupid. Anyone with a brain themselves could see past the uneducated swamp rat act he was always trying to pull. With clients like Remy's, Logan figured, you had to learn to be careful real quick. That included being prompt, enchanting as only Remy could be and absolutely, devastatingly gorgeous for each and every client...regardless of whatever feelings he may or may not have for specific ones outside of work.

What's more, there was no one Logan could really blame for this but himself. It wasn't like he could blame Remy, the boy had to make money and this was marginally safer than the stealing he'd done before (a slight improvement at least). He had debts to pay and far too many enemies to get off his back for Logan's taste, powerful ones too. Once upon a time Remy had quite a little gambling problem and it turns out all the hypnotic charm in the world can't override the lust some people have for money. Remy's pimp ,Sinister, was ruthless meaning he had to work hard and Logan had to watch. Sometimes he figured this was what he deserved, doing something as stupid as falling in love with a whore.

It tore Logan apart that he couldn't stop this. This was HIS mate, goddamit! He shouldn't have to share him with anyone, shouldn't have to smell other men and women on his Remy or let anyone else enjoy Remy's soft skin. Logan wasn't sure how much longer he could do this. It was only getting harder to let Remy go each morning, sometimes even before the sun had come up. With a deep growl Logan wrapped his arm around the boy's slim waist and pulled him back against his broad chest, causing the boy to drop his cleverly designed belt (Remy always knew just how to dress to attract attention right to where he wanted it) with a surprised yelp. 

The beautiful young man's response was somewhere between laughter and a sigh. "Logan...ya know Remy ain't got time for dis." God, Remy's voice was like caramel sometimes, Logan thought as he buried his face possessively in that soft, delicate neck. He had an overwhelming desire to bite but wasn't interested in getting smacked this early in the day. No one was allowed to mark Remy's skin. He had to look untouched, like each client was his only one. Logan's predatory insticts would have to be denied. It used to bother him...well, if he was being honest it still did. It kept him awake at night -the nights he didn't have Remy in his arms, that is, the only nights he ever managed to sleep well-, his overwhelming desire to mark Remy as his. Still, between not having Remy at all and this, there was no contest. He could put up with it. He'd put up with anything to have Remy in his arms like this.

"Don't go?" Logan knew better than to ask. He really did. He wasn't stupid. He did, however, ask stupid questions from time to time. Those times were almost always when Remy was around. Remy just had that effect on people. Names tended to be forgotten, speaking was suddenly incredibly difficult, and generally suffering loses of IQ points were all fairly common reactions to exposure with the gorgeous young man.

Remy couldn't stay. They never could. Nothing needed to be said. Remy wasn't his first whore. ...Just the first one he wanted to stay.

Remy's expression was heart breaking as he let his head rest against Logan's shoulder. "Ya know Remy can't." The words seemed to come out softer than he wanted them to.

Oh,Logan knew alright. Didn't make it any easier. He kissed Remy's full lips, pleased with how the kid melted back against him. He knew Remy couldn't, didn't mean he wasn't going to try and make it so he would. His callused hands danced up the the kid's chest, Logan smiled and pressed a kiss to his neck at the gasp his touch caused. "Stay." He whispered against that soft neck, pleased when Remy's breath hitched.

"Ya know Ah want to, cher. ", the kid only dropped his third person bullshit when he was being serious. Logan didn't know why he ever used it in the first place. It was kind of endearing...but mostly annoying.

"So stay then." Logan lay back and pulled the kid down with him.

"Cher, come on naw, Ah ain't got time for dis." Drawled the beautiful creature in his arms. Whores faked accents all the time. Thought it made them, more desirable, more interesting.They weren't wrong, accents were very, very sexy and Logan found certain ones could really make him hot under the collar. Accents were hot as hell UNLESS they were faked. Then, they really, really weren't. Logan was using this one girl for awhile who was fond of doing a Russian one. God, he couldn't stand her, once he actually put tape over her mouth, pretended that was the kind of thing he was in to. Just wanted to shut her up. Annoying as hell but great tits. Remy though, the kid was the real thing. The genuine article. Southern, through and through. That slow drawl was natural and it was most certainly, certainly hot. Made Logan want to kiss the boy again so he did.

He certainly didn't get any complaints, at least, not at first. Remy began to struggle in his arms after only a few seconds. Logan let go with a sigh. Best not upset Remy too badly. Kid had a helluva temper sometimes, almost as bad as Logan's own, Remy was just more secretive about it. He could of course, for the right price, force Remy to 'forgive' him but that wasn't the relationship he wanted to share with the young southner, a real relationship, not one bought with money for a few hours at a time.

More emotions than Logan could keep track of flickered through the ruby eyes  
Remy's expression softened and he turned so he could face the older man and inadvertently end up straddling him-the kid was not making this any easier for him. Remy nuzzled his soft cheek against Logan's own stubbled one. "Ya know Ah'd stay with ya if Ah could,Logan." Great. The kid had caught on to how hearing his name spoken in that creole accent with those full lips could cause Logan to go weak in the knees. Everyone was Remy's "cher", he was Remy's only Logan. ...He was going to assume he was anyway, made him feel better at night.

Logan growled but it was no use. The kid had him wrapped around one of those long, elegant fingers."Where ya going in such a hurry at six fucking A.M, Rem?" Who are you going to? "Is it really so much better than here?" Are they really so much better than me? Logan chased those thoughts away...well...he sure as hell tried. 

Remy gave a snort of indignation. "Naw.", Remy leaned forward to give Logan a kiss that was over far too soon for Logan's taste, "But Ah gotta go ahl the same. Gotta go see le chat. He ain't exactly a patient man."

Creed. Of course. It would be Victor Creed stealing his Remy away from him, his mate away from him. He swore that sonuvabitch was trying to ruin his life. It seemed crazier than Victor now that Logan had ever gotten along with his half brother. These days he found it best to not acknowledge that he and Victor were family at all. 

It was just much easier when family was enemy to pretend they weren't family at all. Chuck probably wouldn't mind that he had family that was a member of Brotherhood, he'd been with X long enough for Xavier to know where his loyalties lie. The other members though...might not be as trusting. Not that he really cared what they thought, but it was a helluva lot easier when his fellow members were with him than against him. Keeping his relation to Victor under wraps was especially wise now that tensions between The Brotherhood and X were once again on the rise. Hadn't been this bad for years. Even being caught in Brotherhood territory at all if you so much as happened to live in X territory was asking for all kinds of trouble. The kind of trouble where you end up at the bottom of a river. 

The only person Logan'd ever known who could hop from one territory to the other with no problem at all, in fact, was the Southerner currently straddling his lap. One blessed thing Logan didn't have to worry over when it came to the gorgeous kid. Remy had always been welcomed into both X and Brotherhood's turf without so much as a word against him. For awhile Logan wasn't sure if Remy wasn't just sneaking in and no one had ever noticed. Kid was a fucking master thief and an ex hustler. That couldn't be it though. He'd asked the kid about it once and gotten a dazzling smile and "Remy friends wit everyone." as an explanation. And it was the best one, to be honest. Remy WAS friends with everyone. Not just the gangs either. The drug lords, the pimps, hell, kid was probably friends with the fucking cops. Everyone trusted Remy despite all the evidence- and there was practically a metric fuck ton of it- that they shouldn't. 

Logan didn't HAVE to worry. But he still did. The kid was playing with fire. Only makes sense for Logan to fear one day he might get burned.


	2. Victor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I intended to have this up much earlier but got really sick and I just couldn't. So...it's a little late and a little shorter than I originally wanted it but it's here now nonetheless! I hope you all enjoy it! Sorry for any mistakes, this is unbeta-ed.

Remy ran his fingers through his hair nervously though there was really no point in doing so. His hair would be a mess soon enough anyway. Victor was somehow even more wild than his brother, in sex and in life. It was enough to make anyone a little nervous. Then again, being a little nervous around Victor Creed was the wise choice really. Those who found themselves getting too comfortable with the savage man nearly always regretted it. That is, if they were still alive.

Just a little nervous. That was key. Just enough to be cautious, not enough to be afraid. Fear meant prey. Prey got quickly hunted down, expertly and efficently killed then devoured. Remy certainly was not going to become this man's prey that's for damn sure. 

The irony did not escape Remy in the delicate balance he had to find to appease such a barbaric man. Victor craved submission and he'd take it by force if he needed to, in fact he rather adored doing so. On the other hand, if it was too easy Victor became bored and he would be much less interested in fucking you than killing you. Remy'd heard horror stories about how girls got sent back mangled and beaten, sometimes in pieces to their pimps with notes attatched scrawled in blood reading, "Give me better next time." Good thing I'm not a girl, he'd thought. Now after having spent a good deal of time with Victor Remy could say for a fact he lived up to his gang given name, Sabretooth, in his love for hunting, ferocity and well, just about every other way too.

The best way to please Victor was with a little fight. Remy could sure as hell give him that. Even as wild as Victor was, Remy wouldn't be afraid of him. That, was what set him apart from all the others Victor'd had. That's what made him Victor's favorite. Or at least that's what the cat himself, said. It was true that he stopped seeing others with any sort of frequency, rumored, at all.

Remy's lips curled into an oddly appealing mixture of a smile and a sneer. He supposed he'd kept Victor waiting long enough now, not enough to actually anger him, just piss him off a bit. He put on his sunglasses, hiding his eyes on the off chance there was a human at a Brotherhood bar. Time to get to work. 

Remy sauntered into the bar with way too much nonchalance for a man here to meet Victor Creed. As always, he was struck by how nice the place was for a gang bar. The place belonged to the second in command of brotherhood and for all the tasteless things Brotherhood occasionally did- as did X though, they were gangs- Remy had to admit she had taste. Mystique as they called her obviously couldn't run the place herself for being too busy helping run a gang so she left an absolutely delicious latin girl, Angel, in charge of the place. It was real nice, had a lot of class which was why so many thronged to the place-even the occasional brave group of humans.

Victor, however, didn't give a flying fuck about class. Remy'd wondered why a man like Victor choose here of all places as his bar of choice. One whiskey sour and he knew. The bar tenders here mixed them strong. Six or seven drinks from Salem could knock out a horse. Victor regularly had eight or nine, if he had work the next day, that is. Victor drank it straight too.

Today, however, Victor looked more like he wanted to dump his scotch on someone's head- Remy hoped that someone wasn't him- than drink it. Honestly, he had no patience whatsoever. So Remy always made him wait. 

After one last moment to himself Remy took his time strolling over to Victor, gently tapping a broad shoulder. "The seat next to you taken?" He was careful not to use his accent, pretending to be a different person even though he knew there was no way Victor wouldn't instantly know. Still, why take things too seriously? 

Sure enough the savage man growled, "I know it's you, Gambit. Can smell you, remember? You been standing there a long damn time.  
My back really that interesting?l"

Remy laughed. "What Ah smell like then?"

"Sex." He finally took a drink from his scotch.

"Wonder why. Ain't too smart, are ya?" He sat down gracefully. "We usin professional names now? Thought we were on a first name basis," he said a little more softly "Victor."

Victor growled at him but motioned to Angel. "Get him a bourbon." 

Remy gave her a lazy smile, "Ya know what Remy like cheri."

"Jim Bean on the rocks coming right up."

"Don't go easy on the ice neither cheri. Last time ya nearly knocked poor Remy out cuz ya give him so much to drink." He winked at Angel who gave him a laugh in return, a pretty, pretty sound. She remembered that night very differently than he did. From where she stood behind the bar he had seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

Remy took the glass, pleased to see that she had indeed, put in a little bit of ice. "Merci Angel." He took a sip, closing his eyes as he always did when he drank bourbon just for a few seconds to pretend he was back home in New Orleans. When he opened his eyes to lean closer to the wild man, meeting his predatory gaze he was reminded that was the closest he was going to get to going back home for awhile now. 

Remy didn't need to do more than blink to snap himself out of it. There was no place for sadness when he was with Victor. Sadness, along with many other emotions, bored him to, ironically, tears. There was, however, always a place for flirting. "What's gotten into you, Chat? Meetin Remy at a bar, buyin him drinks. Ya suddenly a gentleman now? Better be careful or Remy might think this a date." he drawled. 

Victor snorted. "You wish Remy. It's just in my benefit for you to be drunk for today."

"Oh?" , Remy raised a naturally perfectly shaped eye brow. "It's barely 7:30 cher."

"Yeah. And?" 

"Nothin," Remy said with a smile. He didn't have any problem with drinking in the morning. It was downright silly of him to think that Victor Creed would, now that he thought about it. "Ya the boss."

"Damn right.", Victor growled, "Now, drink up. We're gonna have a lot of fun today Remy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it seems to end too quickly. I decided it would be best just to post it. So you guys could have another chapter finally. Really sorry for not having it sooner. Did my best on it.


	3. Scott & Jean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took forever and I'm so sorry, between all the traveling(during which I had no wifi for two weeks) I've done recently and recovering from being sick this chapter has been close to a month in the making I think. It was started on July 13th. But now I'm a lot more stable so I hope to have chapters out a lot faster...or at least...within a reasonable time. Please don't give up on me just yet! I've got some great ideas for the story! Hope you like this chapter! I worked hard! As always I do not own X-men or the passage nor the book which it is from.

Remy'd had plenty of threesomes in his life, both before and after he started working for Sinister. And this, well, this one was probably the most awkward.

He'd learned that work time threesomes were different than leisure time threesomes to begin with. Leisure time threesomes were maybe a one time thing.Often, they were unplanned. Somehow it was those that always felt the most satisfying. Remy supposed it was probably different for everyone but it was always that way for him. Work time threesomes on the other hand, those took more planning than he would have ever expected. He didn't have to do much of it thank god, but the couples, and people requesting threesomes with one of Sinister's usually were- time with one of his wasn't cheap-, had sometimes been planning this for months. Ironic as the reason many couples wanted this was to regain a feeling of spontuniaty in their realationship.

Jean Grey and Scott Summers had most certainly been planning this for awhile. Given who they worked for- if work was really the right word for it- Remy supposed he shouldn't be too surprised. In their line of business failing to foresee all possible outcomes could be fatal. Remy knew all about that, of course. He'd dodged more than his fair share of fatal outcomes in his time. Still...he'd be lying if he said it didn't make him feel a little uncomfortable.

Married couples always chose a woman. Couples in general-at least heterosexual ones- always chose a woman. It was less threatening to the husband. And generally, as the whole thing was his idea in the first place, he ended up calling the shots-at least as far as the threeway goes.

By choosing a man-by choosing Remy- this couple had made themselves an anomaly. Remy wasn't too sure what to expect. And that, that made him nervous. Rule number one to succeeding in a business that deals in pleasure: know your customer. What do they want? Not just the basics either, you had to really, really know. All the secret fantasies, hidden desires, all the most twisted kinks, the dirty stuff they were too ashamed to tell you. You had to anticipate those and as sure as the day is long you had to exploit them. That's how you got them to request you again and again. That's how you kept them coming back for more. To be really good-to have as many regulars as Remy did- you had to be able to read people. It wasn't that different from playing cards in that aspect.

Rule number two: Be exactly what they want. Act like you love them, be a tease, be as depraved as you need to. It wasn't Remy's job to judge. It was his job to please and he did it incredibly and surprisingly well. Half of it he attributed to raw talent. The other half, well, with the right people breathing down your neck you can pick up anything fast.

But, so far in this case, both these rules were proving useless. That was what really made him nervous. How could he please clients he barely knew anything about? All the common stereotypes of what a married couple would want had already been blown out the window in their choosing Remy in the first place. Also, pretty much just any stereotype about people hiring a prostitute in general. Really, who the hell meets a prostitute at a tea shop? He felt down right ridiculous sitting here drinking a cup of Earl Grey waiting for people he was going to fuck. This would make one hell of a story.

He'd gotten there early to figure it out. Scott and Jean weren't due to be here for another half hour. A fucking tea shop, Remy shook his head. Really, this just didn't seem right at all. There was a bookshelf literally jam packed with all these fucking literary masterpieces. People just walked over, picked one up, shrugged, sat back down merry as can be and started reading the bricks, all curled up and cozy. On a whim he'd picked one up too. It was what everyone was doing, it'd have seemed fishy if he didn't. It was nice, a comfortable weight in his hand. Remy'd never been much of a reader. Hell, he'd never been one for school as a whole. He barely ever went. It was times like this he regretted it just a little. The book's pages were worn and soft, turned thousands of times by people who were readers and went to school like they were supposed to, the ones around him in warm fuzzy sweaters not here to met anyone or actually looking forward to their arrival if they were. Remy envied them for many reasons. Maybe he could be like them still. Perhaps it wasn't too late...

'And at last, in it's curved and imperceptible fall, the sun sank low, and from glowing white changed to a dull red without rays and without heat, as if about to go out suddenly, stricken to death by the touch of that gloom brooding over a crowd of men.'

Remy put the book back on the shelf and sat down. Was that even English?! No way in hell did he belong here and Remy was suddenly horrified by the idea that everyone around him could tell. That was ridiculous, of course, all the people around him were far too interested in their really very good cups of tea -at least, Remy assumed it was good, the only tea he ever drank with any real regularity being sweet tea and this Earl Grey stuff sure as hell didn't taste anything like that- and their incomprehensible books to pay any mind to him.

Still, Remy couldn't help but shift uncomfortably despite how overstuffed and downright cozy his chair was. This just felt so very weird. This was a really nice place. He didn't belong here. It wasn't that he didn't feel welcome. On the contrary, it was hard not to feel welcome. It was really hard not to give in to the overwhelming urge to get one of their wonderful, piping hot cups of tea and sit down in one of their impossibly comfy chairs and read-or in Remy's case attempt to read- one of the soft,well loved bricks. So basically, this shop was the polar opposite of anywhere Remy frequented. For that reason, despite Remy's almost certainty that this was the nicest tea shop in existence he couldn't help but be a little anxious to leave. It was far too innocent. His presence there was defiling it.

The lighting was absolutely perfect, bright and cheery but comfortingly so, a welcome respite from the 'mood lighting' ever present in the thousand and one coffee houses in this city and all others like it. The place itself was small and perhaps it would have skimmed the line between cozy and cramped a little too closely if not for several bay windows letting in the natural light that made the shop seem so open. The furniture was simple and comfortable but hinted at elegance. A deliciously muscled young man- early twenties, a college kid no doubt- with a thick Russian accent and an absolutely adorable smile was the barista. A more comfortable place could scarcely be found.

It comforted Remy that as strange and wrong as this was, there was something a little off about this perfect, little nook of a shop already without his help. Remy figured everyone had to know about it. How couldn't they? It was pretty damn obvious who the shop belonged to if one wasn't completely oblivious to what was going on in the city. That someone, though he seldom connected himself to it as Mystique so firmly did with her own establishment, was Charles Xavier. All the people who were readers and went to school like they were supposed to in their warm, soft sweaters and were good and did the right things and had for the most part quite ordinary and wonderful childhoods were sitting and reading and drinking and talking in the leader of one of the two biggest gangs in the city's fucking tea shop. Humans and mutants, happily sipping away, completely uncaring that the man who probably first turned the pages of the very books they were reading was one of the two most dangerous men in the city. That irony made him feel a little better about meeting people who had hired him in a place clearly meant to meet dates that you didn't have to pay.

He scarcely claimed the marvelous little place for perhaps that very reason. So his ownership of it could be easily forgotten, ignored with no trouble at all. All the patrons of Charles' tea shop needed to focus on was the delicious warm feeling brought forth by a cup of perfectly steeped tea and the equally delicious words of a perfectly penned book, evidently. It was painted on the wall in a lovely golden scrawl above the menu. A motto of sorts, comically signed "the owner". Everyone knew who signed it. They simply didn't care that the man who did had been a part of the brutal violence the national media chastised their city for. The shop didn't need to be claimed for them to know. It had Charles' aura. That is to say, it was likable and unspeakably inviting. 

The fact of the matter was, it didn't really matter that Charles Xavier was the leader of a massive- and occasionally violent, because, really, all gangs occasionally were- gang of mutants, X. They didn't care. Hell, Remy didn't care. Charles was one of his favorite clients despite the...less than customary nature of their time together. Actually probably because of it and the simple fact that spending time with Charles was enjoyable. Remy always left with a smile. Not once in all their many hours spent together had Charles ever really touched him. Oh of course he had touched him, he'd shaken his hand-Charles had a terrific handshake-patted him on the shoulder, the occasional caress of his cheek but he'd never _really_ touched him. He hadn't even ever tried. He just...talked to Remy. Asked him about his life and told Remy about his. Man, he sure did wish he was meeting Charles instead of these new mystery clients. Yet more irony, Remy was meeting his daughter. 

"Gambit?", A woman's voice suddenly called, softly, hesitatingly, snapping him out of his thoughts of her father and how much easier of a client he was. "You are...him, aren't you? Gambit?" She hated saying it, he realized. The way her face contorted ever so slightly, a grimace. It made her feel dirty to call him that, made it so much more real. He couldn't blame her. Sometimes it made him feel that way too. And she was already nervous enough. Didn't matter that she was, overall, a confident woman. The wives were always nervous. The husbands too though they did a better job hiding it- not this particular one though who looked vaguely like a deer in headlights before he caught Remy looking at him. 

Remy was always slightly taken aback when people found him intimidating and plenty of people did. First timers always freaked out. Remy guessed that they almost didn't really realize what they had done until he showed up. That, yes, he was in fact a real person and yeah, he was in fact, here right now. Truthfully, he found it kind of silly when they were intimidated by him. Unless he was angry at you or using his powers on you, Remy was pretty sure he was in no way scary. It wasn't his job to judge though. It was his job to please. Rule number one: Know what your customer wants. So he would take it slow.

Remy smiled at them. Not _the_ smile, of course. They were nowhere near ready for that yet. This was just a baby step smile, only slightly more charming than a normal person's might be. He extended a hand to the husband first- any son-in-law of Charles Xavier had to be a handshake man- then to the wife. They visibly calmed a bit. That's right, just like any normal encounter. The introductions had to be perfect. They were still pretty much little baby deer. The slightest error-coming on too strong particularly-could spook them. "Please, just Remy's fine. Gambit is just Re-my codename." Rule number two: Be whatever they want you to be. They- Scott and Jean, he corrected himself as it was pretty much guaranteed they would want him to call them that- would want him to be at least a little refined. Just look at the place they wanted to meet at. A fucking tea shop! He worried he wouldn't be able to pull it off well enough.

Apparently, he'd done just fine as a little tension lifted from their shoulders and they sat down in sync sharing a quick relieved smile they probably didn't think he noticed. "I'm Jean Grey and this is my husband Scott Summers. We're so glad to meet you." The smile the two shared-they seemed to enjoy doing that-was so pleased if he weren't there he swore they'd be giggling. 

She was the talker in the relationship then. If Remy kept her talking it could calm her significantly. Now the only issue-other than calming Scott- was which subjects were safe. Nothing about their marriage, of course, that'd only make them think about their fears again. "Not Xavier?", Remy sure as hell wasn't about to ask why her last name wasn't Summers. That was suicide.

"I'm adopted", she brushed a lovely lock of fire behind her ear, one of those lovely redheads with a perfect complexion, not a flaw to her skin, "But Jean Xavier is a sort of nickname of mine. I love my father but I wanted to keep my real name, a link to an identity I lost long ago. I barely remember my parents as is, I want to hold on to whatever I can of them though, even if that is just their name. I was maybe 3 or 4 when Charles took me in, five or six when all the paperwork came through making me legally his. I expected him to want me to take his last name, to be insulted that I didn't want to, but he wasn't. My father is rarely ever insulted. It's one of the many great things about him." she said easily, more easily than Remy would have spoken of his own past if at gun point. Jean was definitely Charles' daughter. 

Remy was somewhat surprised to see that she took after her adoptive father in that she too, didn't look anything like someone in a gang, let alone the daughter of the leader of X. Even more surprised that her husband didn't either. They looked more like they belonged here, pouring over warm, worn incomprehensible bricks of books than arguing over borders. Except there was a hardness in their eyes that he'd never seen nor would he ever see in Charles'. They were not as gentle. 

"Your father is a kind man." Remy said, because it was true, he was. That wasn't debatable.

"Too kind sometimes.", grumbled the man. It speaks! 

Jean didn't say anything about that-there was no real resentment to his words and if there was it was an oddly fond sort- , instead laughing, "Oddly enough _he_ was the one who recommended you to us!" She laughed at the disgusted look on his face, even Scott joined in. "Telepaths have boundary issues, especially my father. He also happens to have impeccable taste."

Scott nodded, "He's got a good eye."

Remy smiled. This just might end up going well after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Oh! Also can you guess which book that passage is from?


	4. Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its so late, schools crazy :(

"Remy done told you again and again, Charles. Remy don't know nothing about Sinister. Sinister don't tell Remy nothing cept where to go when. Ya wastin' ya time." 

"It's not Sinister I'm interested in." As open as Charles was his ever present smile might as well have been the Mona Lisa's for all it revealed about what he was really feeling. "Is it so strange to believe that a lonely old man would desire the company of a lovely young man such as yourself Remy?"

Remy snorted. "Please. Remy know as well as ya do Charles that ya like forty-five. That ain't old.

Charles took a sip of his tea, the smile was obviously slightly amused now. Remy was surprised how genuinely proud that made him. "Perhaps not in a normal setting. However, in the setting in which we live I'm positively antique."

That was true. Gangs, for the most part, were a young man's game. Remy supposed that unspoken rule didn't apply so much to mutant gangs though. After all,people tended to stick around longer when they had fantastical powers to eliminate the people trying to make sure they did otherwise...even if they didn't make use of said powers unless there was no other choice like Charles. 

Remy shrugged; he didn't know much about mutations or how they worked but he'd heard that mutants got stronger with age. "Antiques worth a lot though."

The laugh that got from Charles was hardly dignified and Remy absolutely loved it. Charles' smile was even better, bright as the sun but not at all painful to look at. "Oh you are a clever one, aren't you! I won't take anyone's word to the contrary Remy, particularly your own."

It didn't matter how many times he met with Charles like this. Remy was certain he would never, ever be able to see the leader of one of the two largest gangs in the city when he looked at him. In fact, the more times he met with Charles the more convinced he became that Charles was not. How could he possibly be? This man could easily be Charles Xavier, the owner of the world's most charming combination library tea shop ever. Remy'd buy that in a heart beat. But Charles Xavier, the leader of the powerful mutant gang, X, that got in turf wars with Brotherhood resulting in blood being dumped rather than just spilt? No fucking way!

In all the stories in the newspapers-all strongly anti-mutant but pro mutant gangs,because, hey, people in this city were more likely to read a story if it was soaked in blood, and the gangs sure did create a lot of blood with which to soak- Charles Xavier was cold and calculating. He could be just as much a mad man as a genius. They spun him as some demented chess master. 

In a way, it was kind of funny and more than a little incredible. Remy couldn't believe the newspaper reporters in this city could be just so ridiculously bad at journalism. It was a little sad. How was it possible to get a man so absolutely wrong? Literally, they hadn't gotten a thing other than his being a genius and having a fondness for chess correct and one hardly needed to be a journalist to see that. They pretty much just made shit up. Remy did have to compliment them on that.At least it was something. 

Charles was anything but cold. If he were to look up the word warmth in the dictionary Remy was pretty sure he would find a picture of Charles, fuzzy argyle sweater vest and all.(...Charles never claimed to be a fashionista). The man was simply the embodiment of the word. He was a beam of sunshine in every room he entered. His smile could light up the dark. He was always offering tea, always suggesting some book, laughing and smiling that nearly blinding smile of his. He spoke to you like you were the only other person in the whole universe and your skin would practically dance at being able to get to share the universe alone with someone like Charles. Someone who could just so effortlessly make things okay again. And of course, no one, NO ONE, gave hugs like Charles did. 

And mad man?! Who the hell was believing that horseshit!? Charles had two cats named Wordsworth and Thoreau who he fed real cream and bits of chicken. That he cooked just for them! And yeah, maybe that was a little weird, but the actions of a mad man? Hardly! 

Manipulative? Charles had been one of Remy's first customers and he'd never even tried to touch him.

Charles was too good for this and he simply accepted it with a smile. Sometimes Remy thought Charles truly did need this, whether this was what it really should be or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its so short and for that rushed ending. I really just wanted to have something for you guys and not keep you waiting any longer.


End file.
